Lincoln, the Politician

by T. Aaron Levy

Lincoln was alive to the best methods of persuasion. He knew that men were the children of emotion and that while many would be calloused to the slavery of the black man, nothing would arouse the North quicker than this doctrine of the bondage of the white man. While slavery was making every effort to fasten its fangs on the nation, Lincoln was not averse to take advantage of a shrewd move to strike heavy blows at the potent institution.

He entered deeply into the contest. Lincoln knew that it involved the painful rending of party allegiance. His letter to Palmer sheds light on the intensity of the struggle, the heroism of the democratic minority whose loyalty to country and righteousness surpassed a deep-seated partisanship: "You are," he said, "and always have been, honestly and sincerely a Democrat; and I know how painful it must be to an honest sincere man to be urged by his party to the support of a measure, which in his conscience he believes to be wrong. You have had a severe struggle with yourself, and you have determined not to swallow the wrong. Is it just to yourself that you should, in a few public speeches, state your reasons, and thus justify yourself? I wish you could; and yet I say, 'Don't do it if you think it will injure you.'"[283]

Lincoln recognized that political progress is not alone the result of intellectual supremacy; that it is a painful struggle; that policy must be mingled with principle; that the world does not welcome the unadulterated gospel; that through the centuries, humanity has groped its way to the far light with eyes blinded by the superstition of ages and selfishness.

The moral prophet is seldom the political leader of his time. He stands above his age. The politician is part of it. One sees things as they should be, the other as they are. One is splendidly indifferent to results, the other keenly appreciative of them. Lincoln made no false step. Had he walked too fast for his day he might have been the Garrison of the West, but not the party guide. With sure instinct he felt that the time was not ripe for companionship with the Abolitionists. Illinois was not ready. If he was to continue his hold on public sentiment, to guide it, he could not flash the truth before the gaze of humanity. Despite the suffering of martyrs, the heroism of statesmen, the sacrifices of seekers of the truth, wrong was still "upon the throne," and "truth upon the scaffold," the world was not slow in crucifying its heroes of speech and deed. Lincoln recognized the weaknesses of men, the shortcomings of human nature, the superstition of centuries. He was content with slow progress, uncowed by disappointment, and realized that the grumbling world emancipated its heart and mind slowly.

Under the spell of the State Fair speech, Whig leaders earnestly besought Lincoln to follow Douglas up until election.[284] So again at Peoria, Lincoln broke forth in impassioned utterances that took captive the judgment. His logic throbbed with passion for freedom, for liberty and emancipation. He lifted his hearers above the jangling of everyday life, above the mists of hate, of jealousy, of selfishness, into a region of the brotherhood of man. Unlike his speech at Springfield, this was written out. It demonstrates that his supremacy among the eminent leaders of Illinois was not a matter of the choice of the hour.

With marvelous power of directness, he plotted out the line of discussion. He made much of the fact that the Fathers of the Republic regarded slavery as an evil worthy of restriction and looked forward to the day of its ultimate abolition, saying that as the subject was no other than part of the larger question of domestic slavery, he wished to make the distinction between the existing institution and the extension of it so clear that no honest man could misunderstand him, and no dishonest man could successfully misrepresent him.[285]

With telling effect he quoted the words of Douglas himself as to the sincere observance of the Missouri Compromise that put a barrier in the way of the progress of slavery: "It had its origin," said Douglas, "in the hearts of all patriotic men, who desired to preserve and perpetuate the blessings of our glorious Union—an origin akin to that of the Constitution of the United States, conceived in the same spirit of fraternal affection, and calculated to remove forever the only danger which seemed to threaten, at some distant day, to sever the social bond of Union. All the evidences of public opinion of that day seemed to indicate that this Compromise had been canonized in the hearts of the American people, as a sacred thing which no ruthless hand would ever be reckless enough to disturb."[286] His comment on this unanswerable statement of Douglas is significant of the nature of Lincoln's peculiar fairness and consequent strength. Lincoln said that he did not read the extract to involve Judge Douglas in an inconsistency, for if he afterward thought he was wrong, it was right for him to change, but he brought it forward merely to show the high estimate placed on the Missouri Compromise by all parties up to so late as the year 1849.[287]

In the North and South passion had unloosed its tongue and crimination and recrimination were daily becoming steady servants in debate and discussion on the slavery question. With it all, Lincoln calmly sat in judgment.

"Before proceeding let me say that I think I have no prejudices against the Southern people. They are just what we would be in their situation. If slavery did not now exist between them, they would not introduce it. If it did now exist among us, we should not instantly give it up. This I believe of the masses North and South.... When Southern people tell us they are no more responsible for the origin of slavery than we are, I acknowledge the fact. When it is said that the institution exists, and that it is very difficult to get rid of it in any satisfactory way, I can understand and appreciate the same. I surely will not blame them for not doing what I should not know how to do myself. If all earthly power were given me, I should not know what to do as to the existing institution. My first impulse would be to free all the slaves, and send them to Liberia, to their own native land. But a moment's reflection would convince me that whatever of high hope (as I think there is) there may be in this in the long run, its sudden execution is impossible—what then? Free them all, and keep them among us as underlings? Is it quite certain that this betters their condition? I think I would not hold one in slavery at any rate, yet the point is not clear enough for me to denounce people upon. What next? Free them and make them politically and socially our equals? My own feelings will not admit of this, and if mine would, we well know that those of the great mass of whites will not. Whether this feeling accords with justice and sound judgment is not the sole question, if indeed it is any part of it. A universal feeling, whether well or ill founded, cannot be safely disregarded. We cannot make them equals. It does seem to me that systems of gradual emancipation might be adopted, but for their tardiness in this I will not undertake to judge our brethren of the South.

"When they remind us of their constitutional rights, I acknowledge them—not grudgingly, but fully and fairly; and I would give them any legislation for the reclaiming of their fugitives which should not in its stringency be more likely to carry a free man into slavery than our ordinary criminal laws are to hang an innocent one.